‘Indeed, we did in fact create the instruments of our destruction, as we had feared we might.’ Berengarius paused, and looked fatigued. ‘I’m sorry, Soren, but I’m very tired. I’m simply not used to speaking so much, or even walking about as much as we have today. We can continue tomorrow.’
Soren nodded, disappointed, realising that he was also exhausted. He had become accustomed to the constant headache, and was able to ignore it for the most part, but he’d only been awake for a few hours, not nearly long enough to explain why he was so tired.
‘In the meantime, I really do recommend you visit the dining hall. I know that your need for food is not as normal men’s, but I think you will be pleasantly surprised. The Fount is very weak here, but there are still some things that can be achieved with what there is.’
Intrigued, Soren went to the dining hall after they parted in the College’s front quadrangle. True to Berengarius’s words, there was a table at the head of the dining hall laden with platters of all sorts of food, hot and cold cuts of meat, fruits, vegetables, breads and desserts, a product of magic that Soren was too tired to consider. It wasn’t the massive buffet he would have found at the Academy, but there was certainly more than could be eaten by one person.
Despite feeling hungry, he had little appetite. That was unusual for him but he was too tired to want anything other than a bed, and his headache was making him feel nauseated again. He forced himself to eat a small meal, surprised at himself for having to do so. When he reached his bed, he didn’t have time for a single thought before falling asleep.
Chapter 15
The Test
They met again early in the morning. Soren had to drag himself out of bed once again, feeling as though he’d been pressed into the mattress. His first waking sensation was one of extreme hunger, despite having eaten the night before. He disliked the hollow feeling; it brought back too many bad memories. He went straight back to the dining hall after dressing and was greeted with a table full of food more suited to breakfast; entirely different to what had been on it the previous night. He ate well.
Berengarius appeared fresh and rested when Soren arrived at the Library, a little later than he had intended. They walked to the Hall of Reflection in silence and stopped once they got inside. Berengarius stood next to the pool, staring down at the still water. He had his back to Soren, who looked around, starting to feel impatient.
Without warning, Berengarius turned, twisting his right hand in the air as he did. A blinding streak of light flashed through the air toward Soren. He flinched as it hit, but it wasn’t solid and it passed over him. He felt a warm, tingling sensation as it did, and could hear the air sizzle. He took a deep breath, but as soon as the shock of the incident subsided he realised that the light had no effect on him.
Soren was about to demand an explanation for what he had done when Berengarius clenched his right fist and pulled it toward himself forcefully. Soren felt a strange tugging sensation, as though something was pulling at the very essence of his being. It reminded him of something from years before, a feeling he had experienced when fighting a shaman in the east. The feeling passed quickly though, and once again he felt no different, and seemed unaffected by the experience.
‘What in hells was that?’ Soren said, drawing his sword.
‘A test.’ Berengarius held up his hands defensively. ‘It confirms what I thought, but I needed to be sure. You can put your sword away. I’ve done all I needed to do.’
‘A test for what?’ Soren said.
‘The type of banneret born with the ability to connect to the Fount had unusually high resistance to magic,’ Berengarius said. ‘Magical attack in particular. We needed so much energy to affect them that the Fount around the Isles was completely drained. Even now, there’s barely any.’
‘What would have happened if I wasn’t born like that?’ Soren said, still too shocked to decide how to react, but dangerously close to cleaving Berengarius in two.
‘The light would probably have incinerated you. If it hadn’t, the second attack would have ripped whatever life remained from your body. I was certain the result would be as it was. There was never any real danger to you.’
Ferrata had been watching the docks every day. That he had arrived before the ship he was following came as something of a surprise, but it was a long voyage and there were many variables. Voorn had been cold, wet and grey since he arrived, and he was not in any way charmed by the city. The cold and the damp brought out a variety of aches and pains; old wounds and injuries reminding themselves to him.
It came as a relief when the Honest Christophe finally did arrive. He was eager to be gone from Voorn and back to the more clement weather in Ostia or Auracia, but patience was not so much a virtue as a necessity in his line of work. He continued to wait and to watch.
Nobody went far from the ship while she was being unloaded, but he didn’t see the face he was looking for on board or on the dockside. When the cargo was completely unloaded, the crew made their way into the city in twos and threes, but still there was no sign of the man he was waiting for. Once he felt he had satisfied the requirements of patience, Ferrata went to the ship for a closer look.
At first glance there was no one on board, but sailors tended to get all out of sorts when someone set foot on their ship without permission.
‘Ho there. Anyone on board?’ He waited for a reaction for a moment before vaulting over the bulwark and looking about.
‘Who are you?’
Ferrata turned to the source of the voice, a man who had just come out of the companionway beneath the poop deck.
‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘I did call out, but got no answer.’
The man glared at him, but said nothing.
‘I’m looking for a friend. I was given to understand that he would be arriving on the Honest Christophe.’
‘Who might your friend be? A sailor?’
‘No, a passenger. He’s an Ostian by the name of Soren.’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Honest Christophe ain’t a passenger ship. You must have been told wrong.’
‘I don’t believe that I was,’ Ferrata said. He had seen Soren board the Honest Christophe with his own eyes, and had watched the ship sail out of the harbour in Auracia.
‘Ain’t no one called Soren on the Christophe. Didn’t bring any passengers into Voorn. Is there anything else you’re wanting?’
Ferrata smiled and tipped his hat, but felt his temper rise. ‘No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Good day.’
The sailor nodded, but said nothing more.
Voorn was not yet a dead end. There were other men who had sailed on board the Honest Christophe from Auracia, and they all had tongues.
Chapter 16
The Fount
When Soren woke he felt tired and stiff, as though he had spent the night training rather than in bed. His mind was fresh with memories of his dreams, all centring around Alessandra, of cold, dark water; things he had no desire to think about. It was light outside when he woke, so he pushed the troubled thoughts from his mind and headed to the library. There were still so many questions.
True to form, Berengarius was sitting at his desk, barely visible behind stacks of ancient leather bound books and pages of handwritten notes.
‘You’re finally awake. Good morning,’ he said. ‘Let’s go out into the city again, I find a walk is a nicer way to discuss these things. Shall we?’
Soren nodded in agreement and once more they went out into the city.
There was one pressing issue in particular that Soren wanted an answer to, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask it outright. ‘What happened to the bannerets that were like me?’
‘I can’t say for certain, as I haven’t left the city in a very long time, but I expect that they died out. When the bannerets developed the ability to connect to the Fount, they took on the same burdens that were imposed on the mages. The connection would have made it impossible for them to have children
and pass their ability to the next generation. With the mages wiped out, there was no one to give the Gift to new bannerets. By wiping out magic, the bannerets doomed themselves. An interesting irony, don’t you think?’ Berengarius said.
‘That makes it difficult to explain how I’ve come to have these abilities, so long after,’ Soren said.
‘You’re right, it does. I’m fascinated by it, and I’ve been giving considerable thought to it since you arrived. Might I ask what your family name is?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know. I was raised in an orphanage.’
Berengarius nodded with a mixture of condolence and disappointment. ‘That is a shame, but while it would have been nice to know who your ancestors were, my theory isn’t contingent on that knowledge. The best explanation that I can come up with is that your ancestors were bannerets. The quality has remained latent in your family’s blood for all the generations since. Why it has chosen to manifest itself now, with you, is hard to say. Perhaps your mother’s family had a similar history of service in the bannerets, and when the two bloodlines converged, it was enough for the trait to manifest itself. It is impossible to know for certain.
Soren nodded. It really wasn’t important when he thought about it. All that mattered was that it had happened. ‘It means I’ll never be able to have children, doesn’t it.’
‘Ah, yes. I’m afraid it does seem likely that you won’t,’ Berengarius said. ‘I am sorry.’
It was strange. Soren had never given any thought to having children of his own before. For most of his life just surviving from day to day had taken up all of his consideration. However, now that he was presented with the fact that he would probably not ever be able to, he was filled with the most profound sense of loss and regret.
‘Those towers you can see,’ Berengarius said, breaking the silence, ‘on either side of the strait are the houses for the Chain of Saludor. It could be raised or lowered to control the passage of ships through the strait.’
They reached the nearest tower. It sat atop a walled quay overlooking the narrowest point of the strait and he could see the chain dropping away into the water from its far side. Each link was at least as large as his body and as Berengarius had said, there was no trace of rust; each link looked as though it was freshly forged.
‘How does this all work? How do I tap into the Fount?’ Soren said.
‘That’s probably the only question that I cannot answer with any certainty,’ Berengarius said. ‘Even among the mages, everyone’s method differed slightly. I know little about how it worked for bannerets born with an affinity, so can only tell you of how it worked for those we created and for the mages.
‘The Fount is everywhere, an ambient energy that is stronger in some places, weaker in others. When you connect to the Fount, you can draw on that energy to use it as you choose. It’s given off by all life, much like how a flame gives off warmth, and how that heat is strongest closest to the flame. The Fount is also inside us, like a reservoir, which can be used and replenished. The most important thing to know in this regard is that it can be drained completely. Doing so is always fatal. It’s difficult to do though. You’ll use ambient energy before you draw from your reservoir.’
More danger, Soren thought. For something that was referred to as a gift, it brought a great many ways to kill its beneficiary.
‘In the ordinary course of things you’ll be very aware of when your own reservoir is being depleted; exhaustion, headaches, physical pain the like of which you would not have thought possible. The Moment may mask those warnings, which is another one of its dangers. Sleep will allow your body to replenish its reservoir most quickly by passively drawing on the Fount. The more drained you are, or the weaker the Fount, the longer you’ll need to rest.’
Soren nodded. It explained the headaches and the speed with which he was tiring.
‘As a general rule,’ Berengarius said, ‘the greater the concentration of life the stronger the Fount will be, and the easier it will be to draw on. It’s what made Vellin-Ilora such an ideal site for the College of Mages. At its peak, there were over a million people living here. The Fount was limitless. It allowed us to shape some of the most breath-taking and important magic you could possibly imagine. Now, the city and the Isles are dead. It’s a struggle to draw even a small amount.’
Mention of the word ‘dead’ led Soren to an uncomfortable memory. He had seen a shaman kill someone, and seem to gain energy by doing so. ‘If I were to kill someone…’
‘No, that never worked for the bannerets, and I am certain some tried it. It was only the mages, the sorcerers, who could use that energy, and even then only for destruction. Only a few did, but they blackened all our names.
‘I tap into the Fount at will, but that skill took many years of training and practice. The greatest difficulty is accepting that it is everywhere. Once you can do that, to draw on it is as easy as reaching out to touch it.’
‘It’s a gentle blue glow that surrounds things?’ Soren said.
‘You’ve seen it then. Yes, that’s how it manifests itself to human eyes that are open to it. Seeing it is the first and most difficult step. And you say that you are able to see it at will?’ Berengarius said.
‘To a degree. It needs a huge amount of concentration. That can be difficult to achieve in a fight.’
‘I see,’ Berengarius said. ‘It really just comes down to practice once you have reached the point that you have. Eventually it appears quickly and with little effort. Accept that it is there when you want it, and it will be. The danger is that the Fount might rush in and overwhelm you. It was something that had to be practiced carefully, breaking the connection quickly and at will, until the desired amount of energy could be drawn without danger of being flooded.’
‘That’s something I’ve wondered about,’ Soren said. ‘A number of times, when the Gift has been stronger, things that I didn’t intend to happen have happened. At least, things I intended to do went farther than I meant them to.’
Berengarius bent down and picked up two similar sized pebbles from the ground.
‘Take these,’ he said, handing them to Soren. ‘Now throw one of them out into the water.’
Soren did as he was asked. He watched the pebble as it sailed through the air and plopped into the water.
‘Very good,’ Berengarius said. ‘Now, throw the other one, but don’t do anything differently.’
Soren felt a tingle on his skin as he threw the pebble. It went farther, despite him not throwing it any harder.
‘I channelled some of the Fount into you when you threw the second stone. Not very much, but does that explain to you why that happened? If I channelled more, the stone would have gone farther again. It’s about controlling the flow of energy. With the Moment though, there is no control. Everything you do will be with absolutely maximum effort, everything you attack will be destroyed.’
Soren nodded. It made sense, but he had no idea of how he could ever hope to master it.
‘How close do I need to be to draw on the Fount?’ Soren said.
‘That depends on a great many things,’ Berengarius said. ‘How far away you are from the source, how strong the source is and how skilled you are at drawing from it. The Fount accumulates more around living things, so there is more of it close to larger amounts of life, a city for example. With more skill, or more focus, more energy can be drawn from weaker concentrations. Certain things can dampen, or block a connection. Stone, for instance will dampen, and water will block it.’
‘What about magical objects, like mage lamps? Can I draw from those?’
‘No. We could imbue objects with magic, but not draw it back out again. We could never find a way to store the Fount for later use.’
Soren nodded, but didn’t contradict Berengarius. It was interesting and gave Soren pause for thought, but he saw no reason to reveal that to Berengarius. He was certain that he had drawn from the drones, both in the Academy, and again when they attacked him in the
city. Perhaps it was something peculiar to bannerets born with the Gift that mages were never aware of.
Chapter 17
A Shocking Discovery
‘My ship won’t be back for another thirty-five days or so,’ Soren said. ‘I was hoping you would help me practice with the Gift.’
‘Thirty-five days? From when?
‘Well, forty since I arrived on the island, a few days before I met you.’
‘Soren, it’s been nearly forty days since we met.’
Soren looked at him as though he had lost his mind. ‘I’ve only been here six days, including the days it took me to get to the city.’
Berengarius shook his head. ‘I didn’t think to mention it. With an affinity to the Fount, your body is also more dependent on it. It’s so weak here, it takes you longer to restore your reservoir. Your first night here, you slept for six full days. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake.’
Soren couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but when laid before him, it made sense; the extensive and vivid dreams, the ravenous hunger when he woke, the unusual tiredness. Then he realised what it meant; he could miss his rendezvous with the Honest Christophe.
‘I have to go,’ Soren said. ‘If I miss that ship, I’ll be stuck here.’
Berengarius sighed. ‘I had hoped that we could avoid this for a little longer; it’s been so nice to have company. I can’t let you leave.’
‘What do you mean?’ Soren said. His hand drifted to the handle of his sword.
‘After the war, bannerets came here to destroy the library, to wipe out the last trace of magic. They couldn’t manage it; the spell protecting the library made it impossible. I made an agreement with them and swore an oath to watch over the library and prevent its secrets from ever escaping. I’ve kept that oath ever since. It’s not a task I’ve enjoyed, or one I would ever have wished upon myself, but it is necessary. The few deaths I cause here prevent countless more if these secrets returned to the world.’
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